


Flowers of flesh and blood

by orphan_account



Series: touching you as little as this bed allows [2]
Category: Killer Joe (2011), Rampart (2011)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe fucking Cooper is not crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers of flesh and blood

**Author's Note:**

> This accidentally happened as a sequel to "Where claws come in sharp" so now it's a series...my bad.  
> Will apology up front for the somewhat offensive material, but I wanted to stay true to the characters.

_"I Think love is like being fucked with a knife…"  
_

_“Remind me to never ask for your opinions about anything free to interpretation again… Why are you so violent anyway?”  
_

_Joe glances at the passenger seat. That toothy smile that never reaches his eyes there.  
_

_“I am not violent.”  
_

_“Like hell. You are…”  
_

_“I’m not the one with the record of using brute force against civilians.”  
_

_“Yeah, but the way you talk sometimes…” Dave’s eyes roll, locking on the car’s side mirror. He can still see the scar on his neck, and the bruising on his face. “Besides… the shit you pulled on me.”  
_

_“Well, you warranted for me to do that…” Joe says lazily, looking out the window, watching shapes move. Most days’ stray shapes were more interesting that Dave, but hell… A lot of things were more interesting than anything Dave had to say. Or at least he keeps repeating that…why did he leave him alive? Seems a little more than just a little risky, impractical even.  Not to mention how the trip to the hospital was over all odd and surreal.  Joe’s mind didn’t realize what he was doing till they were already in the ER. Didn’t notice picking Dave out of his own pool of blood. Doesn’t much recall the drive there, where he kept repeating the story of what actually happened. Because sure as fuck, Joe Cooper didn’t fucking attack him. Sure as fuck, Joe fucking Cooper is **not** crazy. _

  
“Why the hell would I tell on you? You’re my goddamn partner, fucks sake.”

_“That’s nice of you…” the reply sounds genuine enough, but Joe is defiantly gone…and Dave can pretty much tell at this point, basis being that for one, he fucked him— so there’s some awareness about certain things. Besides, might Joe acknowledge it or not, he lets up a little in his presence._

_  
“You’re an asshole.” He manages, while looking for his cigarettes. With the packet in hand, he steps out and lights one, closes his eyes and takes a deep drag. It’s when he’s exhaling that somebody tugs the cigarette out of his fingers. Dave doesn’t have enough time to open his eyes and see when Joe smacks their mouths together. And it’s the way it always is, rough, with bites and possessiveness._

_  
Joe’s hands are cupping his face, the cigarette sheds its ash on his shoulder; he can feel that. Also the drop of blood slipping down his chin. The hands grab him, pulling him towards the other body, taking it to where it wants it. He gets pushed to a concrete wall, hits it hard. Would he have time to react he would’ve pushed back, instead he lets the hands roughly hold him in spot, get him his arms behind him, threaten._

_The quick study of the current surrounding doesn't help much, nobody’s there, couldn't see them… No use in dumb shit like calling for help, not like Dave would. He’s not sure why, but he’s compelled to some loyalty to Joe and he’ll be damned if he won’t keep to it._

_“Just—fucking let go--” He trashes, but the other’s hold doesn't even waver. Not that it’s much problem. Eventually a hand backs off and he tries to struggle again, lands him with the cigarette pressing against his wrist. **“--Motherfucker**!”  _

_“The fuck— all of a sudden you have a sense of honor?” Joe offers with a humorless chuckle, while still amused by the new found bite back in the other man. Dave was going to mend; not because he always did, but because it was Joe. Despite the beliefs and knowing the reason to the nickname David brought to town, forcing things never felt wrong to Joe. Then again, not much did._

_The shorter of the two bashes against the other, in attempts to free himself. Trashes more, before he’s pushed into the wall and gives up.  Dave sighs; Joe turns him over, presses them back together. Mouth on the other’s, pushing against him, trying to benefit himself more than bring pleasure to his partner. But his hands wander around the still frame, angry at its reluctance and the same hands that have chocked the life out of so many pull at the hems of a shirt, find scars on skin and trace them.  A certain giddiness takes over Joe as he recalls using the tip of a knife to draw patterns most nights they slept together; remembers the taste of fear and blind devotion. Now, all that came with caution from the usually bold man, but Joe understood the sudden shift in Dave’s behavior. Expected it, really._

_Fingers move down till they find something of more interest, definite to get a response. It brings total reassurance when the body starts its usual motions, when Dave finally kisses back. With the complete reassurance comes the excitement. Joe moves to his own zipper._

_Dave bites his lip and he pulls back. Their eyes lock, the killer’s (despite himself) absolutely smitten for the very first time by the other man. David just stares, eyes angry and the must stay like that for several seconds, but following that moment it all collapses._

_“Fucking faggots!”  Comes a young voice of a frat boy from some passing car. Joe looks at the direction, speculating if he could spot the number, not that it’s really spotted as Dave pushes past him and moves to the car._

_“Motherfucker.” Joe spits still looking in the general direction; sure glad he had a side job._


End file.
